


Truth in Anesthesia

by Wynni



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Humor, Repressed Feelings, Romance, Southern Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:16:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynni/pseuds/Wynni
Summary: Modern story with characters inspired by the Hobbit films. Certain people have been keeping things to themselves, and with a little help from anesthetics those secrets are getting aired. Written with kkolmakov





	Truth in Anesthesia

 

Briallen Davis checked her desk over one last time. Her dental appointment  was still two hours away, but she was already feeling antsy. Making sure everything was as it should be gave her something to do with the nervous energy.  Wren was probably rolling her eyes at her agitation, but it wasn’t like she could help it. Drills were scary business.

Philip Durinson hurried past with a pleasant nod for both Wren and Bri. Briallen let her mind simply fuzz a bit over how good he looked in a three piece. She hated to see him go, but watching him leave was a pure pleasure. She refused to look over at Wren. She could just imagine the exasperated snickering look. Bri tapped the sheaf of assorted paperwork one last time, and put it in the outgoing box. There was one last thing she needed to do for her peace of mind.  She had put in weeks ago for the afternoon off to tend to her dental needs, but trivial details like that tended to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the busy office.

“So, should I remind Mr. Thorington I won’t be here this afternoon?”  Bri beat a tattoo against her desk calendar with a pencil that had found its way into her nervous hands. “Remember my nephew’s birthday party?”

“Oh I do,” Wren answered, her nose twitched suspiciously, but whether to keep the smile hidden, or annoyance at Bri’s dithering, only the spritely redhead knew for sure. “You mimicked him better, of course; but I can just imagine the voice...” Wren continued in a low voice, “‘Ms. Davis, nevermind you’re singing over a cake with lit candles. Haul your perky backside to the office and…’”

Wren suddenly started coughing, her cat eyes darting and pointing at something behind Bri’s back… And surely enough, there stood the imposing and impeccable presence of the resident Grumpus, Mr. John Thorington. The man knew how to fill a doorway in all the right ways.  He raised one eyebrow at Bri, who turned at the first bass rumble.  

“Ms. Davis?” the Big Grumpus asked in an expectant tone.

“Yes?” Bri may or may not have squeaked.

Wren was studiously, possibly manically typing at her desk, suddenly making herself Not There and Preoccupied.  Thorington posed in that doorway like God’s gift to eyecandy everywhere, looking at Bri with those entirely too blue and intense eyes. She quite suddenly understood how rabbits felt facing a hound. Poor rabbits.

“I would expect you to be on your way to your dentist appointment.”

“Just doing last minute checks before hightailing it out of here, up to and including making sure you were aware I was leaving now.” Bri jauntily saluted him, face redder than a stewed tomato and parmesan soup.

She quickly busied her hands rearranging her already rearranged notes,  waiting for the Intimidator to retire back to his lair.

The moment his door slammed, there was an answering thump from Wren’s desk.  Bri’s eyes darted to her friend, only to see her mass of curls spread across her own desk calendar.

She hissed at Wren, “Did he really call my backside perky?”

“I call your backside perky, Bri,” Wren’s answer sounded muffled from under the orange cloud. “Loki only knows whose if any backsides Thorington notices.” It seemed Wren sighed wistfully.

Bri’s eyebrows rose. If only Wren knew.

“Well, I’ve seen his eyes  following one skirt around this office, Wren, and it weren’t mine.”

Quite honestly, if any backsides made Bri’s own mind think ‘perky,’ it was Wren’s. She had a way of walking that could make a skirt sing.

“Was it Lilly from HR?” Wren grumbled and went back to her pretense typing. “I bet it was Lily from HR.”

“Nope nope nope. This perky redhead I share office space with caught his eye a time or three.”

“Pfft sure.” Wren’s clicking slowed down and turned into actual working. “Go to your appointment, Bri. I’ll pick you up in two hours like we said.”

“Can do, Wrennie-pooh. I love you.” Bri singsonged on her way out the door.

Wren snorted and shook her head.

***

Bri under anesthesia was liquid. Like proper liquid. She reminded Wren of those barmy cats from YouTube videos that occupied whatever space they were given, including tiny vases and sugar bowls.

Wren’s friend was pliable, which was the only thing that saved Wren from dropping the poor chick on the pavement on their way to Wren’s car. As small as Bri was, floppy people were heavy! Wren would never have managed.

She finally deposited Bri onto the passenger seat, and exhaled. Bri was sporting a wide sunny grin.

“You soooooooo sweet, thank you Wren. I love you sooo much, you’re my best friend, did you know that? Sumtimes… Summertimes… Sometimes you’re the only reason I don’t bonk Thorington in the head. And it’d make Phil sad.”

Wren patted Bri’s curly noggin and closed the door. And then locked it for good measure, because Rassilon knew what would come to Bri’s narked head. While walking around the car, Wren could see Bri’s lips move, her speech continuing apparently.

When Wren plopped on her seat she heard Bri giggle.

“Phil,” Bri drew out. “His name is funny. He could Phil me up anytime.”  

That was new. Sober Bri was just as affectionate. But Sober Bri was never inappropriate. The chick had style and manners, given a different sort from Wren’s strict upbringing. Wren kinda liked Bri’s style more.

“Oh can he?” Wren asked absentmindedly starting her Prius.

Bri sighed. “Well, if he knew I existed beyond ‘Thorington’s assistant’” She puddled in her seat, slurring her words. “But nope. And I can’t say nuffins anyhow.”

Wren threw Bri a quick side glance. They had been joking about the yumminess of one Phil Durinson, of course. One had to be blind or asexual not to shiver pleasantly at the view of the mind-blowing shoulder waist ratio, and the blond curls, and the prominent nose, etcetera etcetera - which Wren would totally be on board with if not for that One Thing - but she’d never thought Bri was anywhere beyond a slight crush mixed with the general appreciation of Mother Nature doing her job well.

The suddenly sad eyes and the dropping corners of Bri’s full lips spoke of a different story.

“You could always let him know, Bri,” Wren suggested carefully. “You know, that you and him should… you know...” She trailed away, giving Bri a chance to define what the said ‘you and him’ could imply.

“Don’t want him pitying me.” Bri pouted. “If he were inner… intra… if he liked me, he’d a said something by now.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Wren pointed out maneuvering the car between a lorry and a bus. “It’s 2017, my dear. These days a chick can grab anything she wants herself.”

That was a wrong choice of words. Judging by the predatory smile, Bri was imagining the mentioned above grabbing.

And then Bri giggled. “Can I tell ‘em you said that when I get arrested for manhandling my boss’ nephew?”

Wren shook her head.

“But seriously, Bri, are you… into him?” she asked carefully.

“Wren, honey, were I any more into that boy, I’d be wearing him.” Apparently the loopiness didn’t impede Bri’s love for puns. She giggled again. “Philly coat.”

“OK...” Wren said pensively. “I get the ‘pitying’ thing.” _Been there, done that_ , Wren thought. And then there was the question of awkwardness the next day since they worked together, and he was her boss. Oh wait, that would be Wren and… the One Thing, meaning none other but Mr. Thorington the Grumpy.

Wren returned her thoughts to the question at hand. The question at hand was playing with an air freshener hanging from Wren’s mirror like a cat with a fluffy toy.

“You know what really sucks?” Bri said, finally catching the tree shaped freshener. She pulled, and Wren heard the string snap.

Wren turned and grabbed the freshner just a second before Bri sank her teeth into it. She got it, it smelled like vanilla, and Bri was an incorrigible sweet tooth.

“That does suck,” Wren said blindly stuffing the freshener into her handbag.

“It’d be one thing if he were just eyecandy, but nooooo Philly boy has to be the Whole Package deal and the side of chips. Why’s he got to be so considerate and snuff… I mean, stuff?  Wren! He toted the whole box of files from storage for me! Didn’ even have to ask, just swoop! There he is.”

“Well, that just runs in the family,” Wren shrugged. “Thorington does the same. It’s not like he notices whom he’s helping. Just being a gentleman.”

“So they’re all derby winners, huh?” Bri chuckled. “Philly wearing a wreath.”

Clearly, Bri’s imagination was running wild. Wren decided to keep the thought that Thorington in a wreath would still seem sexy to her to herself.

“They are, Bri,” Wren said. “But don’t you think that a gentleman like Phil would be polite and considerate even when refusing you? If he does, that is. I reckon, if you just ask directly...”

“Still leaves the pity party.” Bri was in danger of slinking off her seat and into the floor.

“OK, but at least you’d know.” Wren shrugged.

“Hmmmmm. Philly in nuthin but a wreath.” Bri’s mind was still stuck on derbies and decorations apparently. “Maybe honeymoon?” Bri yawned, and snuggled into her hand. “Double wedding?”

Wren looked at her mate askance. Not that Wren hadn’t imagined the bells, the dress, Thorington in a grey waistcoat, etcetera, etcetera, but she had always hoped that her little secret fantasies had been indeed secret.

“You go ahead, Bri, marry your derby winner. I’ll pass,” she muttered, but her friend was already asleep.

And now Wren had to figure out how to unload her Fluid Friend. Oh poop.


End file.
